


State Of Grace

by NyteFlyer



Category: Donald Strachey Mysteries (Movies)
Genre: Canon Gay Relationship, Gay Marriage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 06:30:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyteFlyer/pseuds/NyteFlyer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Donald’s known all along that he’s been living in a state of grace.  Now he finally has official confirmation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	State Of Grace

_Leap!_

_There is nowhere to fall but into the arms of grace._

 ~~ Marta Davidovich Ockuly

 

 

 

 

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Albany, NY

 

About a year and a half ago, the state of New York decided that while all men are created equal, some are more equal than others. 

 

I guess you could say I was bummed, but not exactly surprised.  My life had pretty much been shaped by the general consensus that I was a second-class citizen and a third-rate human being.  Not that I’m complaining about my life, because I’m not.  I’ve got a home and my own business and Timmy.  Most of all, I’ve got Timmy.  If that doesn’t add up to a life that’s better than most and a helluva lot more than I deserve… _Jesus_.  I may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I’m smart enough to know a good thing when I’ve got it.  And all you have to do is take one look at Timothy J. Callahan to know that I’ve got it _all_.  So when Senator Platt’s colleagues nixed the idea of legalizing gay marriage back in ’09, I was a little disappointed and a whole lotta pissed, but I got over it.

 

Timmy was totally fucking devastated.

 

It just about broke my heart, seeing him that down.  Not that I blame him.  He’d worked so goddamned hard to see that stupid bill pass, given more of himself  to promoting it than he had to anything since the Safe Zone project.  When all his efforts went up in smoke, he felt like the machine had broken down, that the system he’d always believed in, the system that he’d poured his sweat and blood, heart and hope into had turned its back on him.  In other words, he did what he’d always said a politician should never do – he took it personally.

 

I’ll never forget that night.  He walked through the door looking as worn out and beaten down as I’d ever seen him, and there I was, stretched out on a blanket in front of the fire like some kind of idiot, a bottle of champagne chilling on one side of me and two dozen roses – red ones mixed with white for the holidays – on the other, and sprigs of mistletoe hanging in every doorway of the house.  I hadn’t heard the outcome of the vote yet – I hadn’t wanted to.  I’d had this crazy idea that if I kept flipping on CNN to check for updates, I’d jinx it somehow, but if I waited for Timmy to get home and tell me himself, the two of us would have something huge to celebrate together. 

 

Stupid, the mind games I try to play with fate sometimes.  Of course, the second I saw Timmy’s face, I knew the game had been over for hours and that our team had lost.  He kissed me hello like he always did, smelled the flowers and managed a smile we both knew he didn’t mean.  I had another surprise for him, a black velvet box I’d hidden between the cushions on the couch, but I knew giving it to him right then would just rub salt into a wound that was already stinging.  Instead, I just pulled him down beside me and helped him undress, then gave him what both of us knew he needed most, not so much making love to him as soothing  him with a physical lullaby, a reaffirmation that we were what we always had been and always would be, whether the state of New York recognized it or not.  Then I stuck the champagne in the back of the fridge and the flowers in a vase and led him upstairs to bed.

 

He didn’t get up for almost two days. 

 

I wasn’t worried.  Not really.  He hadn’t slept at all the night before the vote – he’d been way too keyed up to even come close to dozing off.  But once the excitement was over and those dickheads in the senate had not just rained on his parade, but also pissed on it,  he did a major crash-and-burn.  Who could blame him?  I stuck close to home, too, napping off and on with him since he always sleeps better if I’m there to share his pillow and hog the covers, forcing a bottle of water down his throat every time he woke up enough to make a bathroom run, and bringing him turkey sandwiches and fruit so he wouldn’t have to trudge up and down those stairs while he was groggy.  It took a lot of sleep and TLC to recharge his batteries, but I’ll tell you what, the second he threw back those covers and his feet hit the floor, Timothy was on _fire_.

 

My robotic pit bull, with the words “next time” always on his lips.  He’d bounced back just the way I’d known he would, hitting the ground running as he drafted memos and wrote speeches, organized rallies and held fundraisers – all with his boss’ support.  I give Platt a hard way to go sometimes, but I gotta admit, she really had his back on this one.  Knowing how much it meant to him, she gave him as much free reign as she could without compromising her own agenda, letting him devote as much time as possible to promoting marriage equality and the push to end DADT. 

 

It wasn’t like the senator didn’t have a personal stake in all this herself.  Her baby brother, the pretty-boy cellist Tim was such good buddies with, was as out of the closet as you can get and live, and I remember her mentioning that her great-aunt had been in a “Boston marriage” with another old gal for almost half a century.  She couldn’t afford to be seen as a one-issue politician, not if she wanted to hang onto her job and maybe move on to something bigger and better when the time was right.  But that didn’t stop her from endorsing Timmy’s pet projects.  Platt trusted him and knew covering her ass from a P.R. perspective would always be at the top of his priority list.  She was willing to go out on a limb for him – just not so far out she was in danger of falling off. 

 

He was still manning the helm at Safe Zone, of course, and he was still Platt’s one and only right-hand man.  But more and more, he was delegating the small stuff, the stuff that didn’t really need his personal attention, to someone else.  He had to if he wanted enough hours left in a day to eat, sleep, and say hello to me once in a while as we ran past each other, both of us in a hurry to get to wherever we _had_ to be as opposed to where we _wanted_ to be. 

 

Passing the shit assignments on down the line gave Timmy a chance to let the junior staffers stretch their wings.  And although he never said as much, it also gave him a chance to see who was a dead-ender and who was promotion material, who was gonna get left by the wayside and who he could groom to take over his position when he was ready to do a little wing-stretching of his own.  Platt’s no fool, and she knew how Tim’s mind worked almost as well as I did.   The day was gonna come when he decided to run for office himself.  She wanted to make damned sure they were both batting for the same team when he did.

The time Timmy devoted to gay rights on the job was just a drop in the bucket compared to the hours he spent drumming up grass-roots support  off the clock.  As often as he could, Timmy dragged me along for the ride.  And yeah, I still did some obligatory kicking and screaming along the way.  I’ve got a rep to maintain, after all, and I wouldn’t want him to think I was going soft after all these years.  But this wasn’t the usual snorefest circuit of stuffy, black-tie events.  These were Tuesday night gatherings in high school gyms, caucuses held in small town civic centers and factory meeting rooms, weekend barbeques and even a ride on a float or two during pride month. 

 

According to Timmy, most politicians who were sympathetic to our cause and even organizations like HRC wasted too much breath preaching to the choir – left-wingers and educated folks who already knew what’s what.  He took a more blue-collar approach, counting on common sense combined with that famous Callahan charm to get his message across. 

 

Over the next few months, it became his mission to convince Joe Blow that your average gay man doesn’t go around fornicating in the cereal aisle at his friendly neighborhood Price Chopper, defiling churches and drowning kittens, or wagging his wienie at little Joey Jr. on the school playground.  Timmy courted truck drivers and plumbers and Wal-Mart cashiers, making them see that the institution of marriage wouldn’t crumble and society wouldn’t end just because guys like us had the same rights as guys like them.  What’s more, he talked them into calling their senators and congressmen and anyone else who’d listen and telling them the same thing. 

 

Hardly a week went by without me seeing my guy on the morning news at least once or twice.  He was always popping up between the pages of the _Times Union_ , and pretty soon he had an _Advocate_ cover of his own to stick in a frame next to mine.  He did talk radio gigs, TV interviews, even a segment on _Good Morning America_ where he butted heads with some fundamentalist stuffed shirt from the DOMA side of the fence.  It got pretty bloody, and Stuffed Shirt came out looking like an idiot, of course.  But there’s no way my Timmy could ever come out looking anything but beautiful.  

 

Every once in a while, bits and pieces of me popped up on the news, too.   The back of my head here, an elbow or shoulder there.  Timmy vaguely referred to me as “my life partner, an independent business owner” during interviews, and he was very careful to keep my face out of camera range so my business wouldn’t go under thanks to overexposure.  Timmy’s face, though?   That gorgeous face of his was quickly becoming the face of the gay rights movement in New York. 

 

It was a long year and a half, with that black velvet box I’d been wanting to give him for so long burning a hole in my pocket the whole time – figuratively speaking, at least.  It was back up in its attic hiding place, getting covered in cobwebs and mouse shit and God knows what else, patiently waiting for the New York state senate to get its head out of its collective ass.  I was waiting, too, but not nearly so patiently. 

 

Timmy wasn’t waiting for shit.  He was out there doing something about it. 

 

When Obama finally signed the DADT appeal, Timmy took it as a good omen.  He and I had a long, hard talk about finances, and we decided it was time for him to request a temporary leave of absence from his job so he could push for the gay marriage bill full time. He was on top of the world and breathing fire, swearing we’d be standing in the city clerk’s office before the year was out, shelling out our forty bucks for a marriage license.

 

As usual, Timmy was right.

 

*** * * ***

 

When the marriage bill went up for a vote last month, I didn’t buy flowers or champagne, and I sure as hell didn’t booby-trap the doorways with mistletoe.  But I did get that little black box out of hiding, and I carried it around in my pocket for a couple of days as I went about business as usual, rubbing my finger against the soft velvet as I interviewed new clients or BSed with Kenny, chanting Timmy’s mantra in my head.  _Next time, next time._   And all the while I was hoping that next time was _now_. 

 

The news broke late on a Friday night.  I was home alone, bored and surfing the net, when a news byte caught my eye.  In the same instant, my cell phone chirped and a text came through from Timmy. 

 

 _Have you heard?  33-29!  Come get me!!!_  

 

He didn’t have to tell me twice.  I was in a suit and on the road in five minutes flat.  

 

I caught up with him on the steps of the capital building, holding court with a swarm of reporters.   He was flushed and breathless, but still in control and looking like he’d just won the lottery.  When he spotted me, he held out his hand, beaming.  I sidled up next to him, tangling my fingers with his and giving him a quick hello kiss in full view of the cameraman from Channel 6. 

 

“In case anyone’s wondering, this is my husband, Donald Strachey,” he said, laughing.  For once, he didn’t give a shit whether or not my face was plastered all over the news and neither did I.  This was his night, the night he’d waited for so long, and I intended to spend every second of it by his side, showing both him and the world how proud I was that he was mine.

 

Timmy was tired, though, and God only knew when he’d eaten last.  He was fading fast.  As soon as I could do it without looking like a total jerk, I eased him away from the fawning masses and led him toward the car.  I held the door for him as he slid into his seat, then sprinted around to my side and cranked up the engine. 

 

“Thank you,” he said, pulling me into another kiss.  “If I’d had to answer one more question about whether I was planning to leave the senator’s staff and run for office myself, I may have been forced to borrow your gun and shoot someone’s camera.  Or at least ask you to shoot it for me, since we both know my history with firearms.”

 

“Are you?” I had to ask

 

“Planning on asking you to shoot something?  I’m not sure.  That annoying woman from ABC—”

 

“That’s not what I’m asking, Timothy.”

 

“I know what you’re asking,” he said, sounding so weary I coulda kicked myself for pressing him.  “I don’t want to think about that right now.  I’m too tired to think about it.  This has been an incredible night, and all I want to do right now is relax and savor the moment.  And the only person I want to savor it with is you, preferably as far away from here as we can get.”

 

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” I said, rubbing his cheek with the back of my knuckles.  He had a little bit of a five o’clock shadow going on there, reminding me just how long a day he had put in.  I shifted the car into gear and pulled away from the curb.  “Which do you need more, food or sleep?”

 

“I haven’t had anything except very bad coffee since this morning,” he said.  “I’m starving.  Feed me?”

 

I took him to an all-night diner Kenny and I sometimes hit at lunchtime.   Nothing fancy, but the food was good and the prices even better, plus they served the best Reubens in town.  I decided on one with double meat and extra 1000 Island.  Timmy ordered breakfast food – eggs and toast and a bowl of oatmeal laced with brown sugar and topped with a fruit compote the place was famous for. 

 

The diner was more crowded than I’d expected, with several clusters of people in evening attire clinking coffee cups and chattering over their Denver omelets while stray blue-collar types sat alone or with a buddy, plowing through plates of roast beef and gravy or monster sandwiches like mine.  The Friday night theater crowd, with a sprinkling of second-shifters grabbing a bite before heading home to bed.   It was hotter than I expected, too, so I ditched my jacket and loosened my tie, then reached across the table and loosened Timmy’s.  He gave me a look, but he didn’t waste any breath protesting.  As stuffy as it was in there, he probably didn’t have too much breath to waste.

 

I’d planned to take him someplace more upscale – not to mention with better air-conditioning -- but at that hour, our options had been pretty limited.  Besides, we could plan a nice night out sometime in the next week.  My baby was looking paler and more wiped out by the moment, and I’d decided that convenience was worth more at that point than ambiance. I knew a migraine would be just around the corner if I didn’t get his blood sugar up fast.

 

As smart as Timmy is, he can be an idiot sometimes, at least as far as taking care of himself goes.  “I’m all right, honey,” he said, without waiting for me to ask, which just goes to show how not all right he really was.  I hauled myself out of the booth and peeled off his jacket and unbuttoned his collar, then walked to the counter and asked for a large OJ.  I plunked it down in front of him and ordered him to drink, then stood over him to let him know I meant business.  As he sipped it, I dunked a napkin into a water glass and dabbed his face and wrists until some of his color started to come back. 

 

“Better?”

 

“Better,” he said.  He caught my hand and squeezed it, then tugged me down beside him.  When the waitress showed up with more juice and my Molson, she took in the altered seating arrangement and asked in an overly chipper voice if we were expecting more people. 

 

“My husband’s all the company I need tonight…or any other night,” Timmy said, smiling.

 

“Oh,” she said, her voice dropping a notch or two on the chipper scale.  “Ohhhh,” she said again, finally noticing our joined hands.   Then she rearranged the table setting without comment, flashed us her best plasto-professional smile, and scurried off to check on our order.

 

She was back a couple of minutes later with enough food to feed a small army.  I thought it all looked great, but when she set Timmy’s plate in front of him, he eyed the extra rack of bacon he’d specifically asked for them to leave off his order, looking faintly queasy.  Timmy doesn’t do fried and he doesn’t do grease, especially on a rock-bottom-empty stomach at midnight.  I snagged the strips off his plate and stuck them on my Reuben, then took a mammoth bite. 

 

Timmy shuddered delicately.

 

“What?”

 

He grinned and shook his head, then dove into the oatmeal.  I’m not a big fan of the stuff, but as he added cream and stirred it, I smelled cinnamon and all that fruit.  My mouth would’ve started watering if it hadn’t already been crammed full of corned beef.  When Miss Chipper stopped by to check on us, I caved and ordered a bowl for myself as a chaser. 

 

I hadn’t realized how hungry I was.  We ate without talking, me wolfing  my sandwich and fries and washing it down with long pulls on my beer while Timmy sipped his juice and worked his way through the eggs and oatmeal at a more leisurely pace. 

 

“I’m sorry I’m not a more stimulating conversationalist,” he said, spreading sugar-free blackberry jam on his last slice of toast.  “I’ve talked so much today, I’m almost talked out.”

 

I’d bolted my oatmeal and fruit concoction as soon as it arrived, and only a warning glare from Timmy kept me from ordering a second one.  “You’re tired, sweetheart.  As soon you’re finished, I’m taking you home and putting you to bed.”

 

“I feel like such a wet blanket.  We should go dancing or something.  We should go somewhere extravagant and celebrate what happened tonight.”

 

“What, spending the night in bed with me isn’t celebration enough?”

 

“That’s not how I meant it, and you know it.  This is an important night, Donald.  Shouldn’t we be doing something monumental to commemorate the occasion?”

 

“I’m not sure how monumental this is going to be, but I think I know how we can make this a night to remember.”  I fished the velvet box out of my pocket and slid out of the booth, sinking down on one knee.  As he stared at me in horrified fascination, I took his hand and cleared my throat, then announced in a voice pitched to carry, “Timothy Callahan, you are the love of my life and the light of my life, my lifeline and lifemate, the life of my party…”

 

Timmy wasn’t pale anymore.  Oh, hell no.   He was the color of those big, sweet Bing cherries, the kind you can only buy in the summertime.  His mouth opened and closed, but instead of words, only strange spluttering sounds were coming out.

 

“…and my life thread is forever tied to yours.  You are my life, and my reason for living.  My only goal in life is to devote my lifetime to making your life a happy one—”

 

“For the love of God, Donald.  People are _watching_.”

 

“Only you can make my life complete.”  I opened the box and took out the ring, then slipped it onto his finger.   “Please accept this small token of my affection and do me the honor of sharing a life sentence with me.  Come on, sweetheart,” I said, lowering my voice by several decibels. “Say you’ll re-marry me.  I want to have the pleasure of passing out in the middle of saying my wedding vows just one more time.”

 

His face contorted and somehow turned even redder.  He seemed to be having trouble breathing.  For a fleeting second I thought _oh my God, he’s having an aneurysm.  He’s gonna die right here in the diner and it’s all my fault._   Then he sucked in a deep breath and cut loose with something that sounded suspiciously like a guffaw.  I relaxed and sat back on my heels, laughing right along with him. 

 

“The ring’s beautiful, honey.  I love it.  But please get up now.  You just had that suit cleaned and pressed, and who knows when these people bothered to mop the floor last.  Besides, everyone in the place is looking at us.”

 

He was right, everyone in the place, customers and staff alike, were frozen in place, staring at us as if they’d just seen the Virgin Mary appear on a taco.  Or in this case, in a bowl of cinnamon oatmeal.  As I glanced around the silent diner, a little girl who seemed to be having a late night out with her grampa broke into a grin and waved.  I waved back.

 

“Donald, _get up_.”

 

“Nope, not until you say you’ll re-marry me.  I can go on forever, you know.  Life is like a box of chocolates when I’m with you.   I never thought I was the marrying kind, but when I met you, it was like trying my first bowl of Life cereal. He’s not so sure at first, but guess what?  He likes it!  Hey Timmy!”

 

“Don’t make me slap you.”

 

“Say yes, Timmy.  Say yes or I’ll sing.  You know I’ll do it.  Worse, I’ll sing Queen.  _Love of my life, you’ve hurt meeeeeeeeeeee.  You’ve broken my hea_ —”

 

“Enough!  These people are trying to eat,” he said, but he was laughing even harder than before.  “Of course I’m going to marry you again.  I’d marry you a hundred times over if it would keep you from singing.  Now, will you please get up before someone calls the police.”

 

“Now say you love me,” I insisted.  “I don’t want you to say yes just so the cops won’t haul me off because nobody around here appreciates a fine Irish tenor.”

 

“You’re not Irish, I am. And I’m not sure you’re even a tenor.  I don’t think there’s a word for what you are.”

 

 “You’ll think of something.  I have faith in your abilities.  Now say yes for the right reasons, Timmy.  Say you’ll marry me because—”

 

The rest was lost in a kiss, a long, hard, fuck-me-now kiss that instantly turned my knees to water and my dick to stone.  Then Timmy’s arms were around me and he was hauling me back into our booth as the kiss went on and on and the other diners hooted and whistled and broke into applause. 

 

“I’ll marry you again because I love you,” he said softly when he finally let me up for air.  “I’ll marry you because you love me, and because I can’t imagine living a single day of my _life_ without you.  I’ll marry you even if you are insane,” he said, nipping my earlobe. 

 

“Or maybe because I am?”

 

“Quite possibly.”

 

“I’ll get the check,” I said.

 

* * * *

 

We slept until 10:30 the next morning, then lingered in bed an hour more, taking care of a thing or two we’d started but hadn’t had the stamina to finish the night before.  After we’d showered and more or less dressed – meaning I pulled on cut-offs and a wife-beater and Timmy looked like he was ready to spend the afternoon watching a polo match -- we wandered downstairs for coffee and croissants and the last of the late strawberries our next-door neighbors, the Sheridans, had given us from their backyard garden. 

 

I pulled the stem off the fattest berry I could find and stuck it between my teeth, then looked at Timmy, my eyebrows wriggling.  He humored me by biting the berry in half, his lips pressing mine in a kiss about a thousand times sweeter than the fruit.  I groaned in appreciation.

 

“Well, good morning to you, too,” he said.  “Would you like to look at a section of the paper?”

 

“I’d rather look at you.”

 

“You see me all the time,” he said.

 

“Well, exactly.”  I topped off both our mugs and settled on the barstool beside him, happy enough to just sit there swilling my cup of hazelnut blend and watching Timmy flip through the _Times Union._ His hair was still damp from the shower, and I was close enough to catch undertones of organic shampoo and his aftershave beneath the stronger scents of coffee and newsprint and strawberries.  I closed my eyes and just breathed, blissed out on the familiar smells of Timmy and morning.

 

From the moment I’d heard about the vote, I’d felt like I was living in a state of grace, like I was the luckiest man on earth because I had everything in the world I ever wanted and more, and now the law finally said I had a right to enjoy it.  That I finally had the legal right to mornings like this, mornings that smelled like strawberry kisses and hazelnut coffee and Timmy.  That nobody could catch me with my pants down and take away everything I loved ever again. 

Paper rustled, and Timmy’s shoulder bumped mine.  “It’s definitely the story of the hour,” he said, holding up the front page so I could see it.  “Historic Vote for Vows.  Honestly, who writes these things?”

 

“Who cares?  All I see are bald heads and mohawks.  Where’s a picture of you?”  I commandeered the paper and turned the page.  There we were, right in the middle of page 3, laying what looked like a huge liplock on each other right in front of the capitol building.   “You’re beautiful as always,” I said, “but my hair doesn’t look so great.  If I’d known we were getting our pictures done, I would’ve taken time to mousse.”

 

Timmy has to be awake a few hours before his sense of humor clicks in for the day.  “Local Gay Leader Celebrates Victory with Husband-to-Be.  Honestly.  Has this…this… _rag_ …been bought out by the _National Enquirer?_ I’m afraid to read anymore.  For all we know, a shot of you proposing in the middle of that diner will be the highlight of page 5.”  He folded the paper and tossed it into the recycle bin.  “We need to go to the grocery sometime today, but that can wait until evening, I suppose.  Besides creating photo-ops for the tabloids, what would you like to do this afternoon?”

 

“You,” I said, turning him so he was facing me and spreading his legs so I could gently press my knee against his crotch.  “Only you.”

 

The look of irritation left his eyes.  In its place, something infinitely more pleasant was kindling.  “You already did me.” 

 

“Hey, that DOMA guy called us practicing homosexuals, remember?  So we better keep practicing if we ever want to get it right.”

 

“You always get it right,” he said.  Even after all our years together, his smile was still soft and sweet and a little bit shy when we talked about our sex life.  It wasn’t that he was shy when it came to actually having sex, because he was anything but bashful between the sheets.   But there was still something about him that was…not innocent, I don’t guess.  Fresh.  That was it.  There was something still fresh and weirdly pure about him, something that made every time between us feel like the millionth time and the first time, all at once.  It always hit me like a double shot of Maker’s Mark, made me want to hold him forever, made me want to take him to bed and make love to him as tenderly as I knew how and not stop for hours and hours.  It made me want to rip his clothes off and beg him to fuck me senseless right there on the kitchen floor.

 

I slid off my stool and wedged my hips between his thighs.  His arms circled my waist, pulling me in as close as I could get, my hands slipping under his shirt, my face buried in that soft, damp hair.  He shifted some, pulled back enough to take off his glasses and fold them before placing them on the counter.  Then he pulled my wife-beater over my head and tasted my nipples, first one and then the other, before working his way down to my belly. 

 

Still perched on his barstool, he braced his hands against my hips and bent over so he could reach that most ridiculously sensitive part of me. He lingered for what felt like days but could have been hours or minutes or seconds, licking warm, wet spirals on my stomach, flicking his tongue in my navel and kissing it, sucking on it, pressing his face his deep into my belly. 

 

Timmy knows me, knows me better than I know myself sometimes, and he always knows exactly what I like.  When he slid his hand beneath my waistband and tugged gently on my happy trail, I threw back my head, gasping, sure I was gonna lose it right then and there. 

 

My cock was rock hard and aching, pressing painfully against the inside of my fly because I’d been too lazy to hunt for boxers and had gone commando that day.   I fumbled with my belt, desperate for relief and release, but Timmy brushed my hands away and unbuckled it for me, then shucked my cutoffs and tossed them to the floor beside my shirt.  I reached for his belt as well, but he caught my hands and kissed the palm of each one before settling them firmly against either side of his waist. 

 

“Let me,” he said, those cornflower blue eyes locked on mine, full to overflowing with love and light.  “Relax for a change.  Let go.  Let me.”  He pulled me tight against him, swallowing me in a brief bear hug.  One of his hands found my ass, the fingers of the other combed through my hair.  He slid farther forward on the stool so our crotches pressed firmly together and rocked me against him as he bathed my face and neck in warm, wet kisses.  “Baby,” he murmured.  “My sweet baby.”

 

“Want you,” I said, moaning.  I captured his mouth with my own and kissed him thoroughly, then pulled his bottom lip into my mouth and sucked it in slow, gentle, pulsing waves, giving him something to moan about, too.  His tongue explored the inside of my mouth, tangling with my tongue, teasing it, teasing me. I rubbed my crotch harder against his, getting frantic.  “Want you,” I said again, pleading this time.  “Want you.  Need you.  Oh, sweetheart, please.  I need you now.”

 

“You’ve got me, honey,” he said, his breath hot puffs against the side of my neck as he nuzzled there, bit me gently.  “You always have and you always will.”  Then he pushed our dishes aside and helped me scramble on top of the breakfast bar, facing him with my knees spread wide, my feet braced on top of his thighs.  His mouth was on my cock before I knew what hit me, drawing me in impossibly deep, pulling and sucking as I went crazy and tried to hump his face, holding onto only the most bare-bones level of control because I didn’t want to hurt him, not for anything in the world. 

 

Timmy’s hands seemed to be everywhere – rubbing my chest and my belly, stroking the hypersensitive skin on my sides, fondling my ass and my balls.  I was swollen to a point just this side of pain, and I could tell from the growing pressure in my balls that I was about to come, and come hard.  But Timmy, the bastard, picked that instant to pull off, clamping his hand around the base of my erection like a living cock ring.

 

“Not yet, he said.  “Almost, but not just yet.” 

 

Leisurely as you please, he reached for the coffee pot with his free hand and poured himself another cup, then drank a good half of it while I sat there squirming in a combination of misery and anticipation.  He took a final drink and held it in his mouth for several seconds before swallowing, then gobbled me whole, releasing his hold on my cock as his mouth slid home.  The heat of that mouth enveloping my cock sent me over the edge, and I screamed, I know I must have screamed, because I felt my balls suddenly pull tight like a rubber band stretched to the breaking point, then everything inside me snapped, just fucking snapped, giving me a release that was both one of the sweetest and most wrenching I’d ever known.  

 

When I came back to my senses, I was sprawled across the breakfast bar, my legs dangling on either side of Timmy, who was calmly kissing his way across my lower belly again. 

 

“Hello, handsome,” he said, looking up when he felt me stir.  “Did you have a nice nap?”

 

“Jesus.”  I rubbed the back of my hand across my eyelids, wiping away moisture there, then slowly sat up, every muscle and joint in my body giving me hell every inch of the way.   “How long was I out?”

 

“Just a few minutes.”  He brushed croissant crumbs off my elbow, then gathered them in his palm and carefully brushed them into the sink.  “You looked like you needed the sleep.”

 

“I needed to stay awake and finish what I started,” I said.  “I’m sorry I conked out on you.  Let’s go back upstairs, okay?  You took such good care of me, and now I want to take care of you.”

 

“I’m fine,” he said.  “Really.  We probably should go upstairs, though.  We could both stand another shower, and…” he hesitated, looking sheepish.  “And I’m going to be needing a fresh pair of pants.”

 

“You came already?  How did I miss it?  Unless you waited til I was out and…”  I pumped the air with my hand.

 

He rolled his eyes, but I could tell he was trying not to laugh.  “Hardly.  It happened at roughly the same time for me as it did for you, somewhere between the point where you started screaming and the moment you passed out and almost fell off the counter.”

 

“But I didn’t even touch you,” I said.

 

“You didn’t need to.”

 

I felt a surge of something stronger than sexual desire for him at that moment, something stronger than love, even.  “You liked watching me come that much?”

 

“I like watching you do anything.”  He touched my face lightly, tracing my jawline with those long, perfectly manicured fingers.  “Afterward, I nearly drifted off, too, but I thought one of us should probably stay awake in case the police showed up on our doorstep.  Considering all the noise you were making, I’m sure the neighbors thought I was killing you.”

 

*** * * ***

We took a shower together, so one thing naturally led to another.  By the time we were done, I was relaxed to the point of bonelessness and was in favor of another nap, but Timmy suggested we go for a swim to get our blood pumping again.  My blood had already done its fair share of pumping that day and was more than ready for a brief time out.  When I told Timmy this, he just tossed my swim trunks at me and proceeded to strip off his robe.  The sight of his bare, white ass practically glowing in contrast to his tanned legs and torso helped me catch my second wind, let me tell you.   As he bent to step into his own trunks, my dick, which I’d thought was down for the count, got its second wind, too.  

 

Timmy turned around before I had a chance to hide the evidence.   “You can’t be serious,” he said.

 

“Don’t tell me, tell _it_.”

 

“You’re the one in charge of _it_ , aren’t you?  Or is it the other way around?”

 

Sometimes I wasn’t sure myself.  I pulled on my trunks and tied the drawstring, then carefully adjusted my package.  “Maybe the cold water will help.”

 

“There’s only one way to find out!”  Timmy was off like a shot, out the bedroom door and down the stairs, with me hot on his heels.   We tore through the kitchen and into the back yard, whooping and hollering like a couple of ten-year-olds as we leaped into the pool.  

 

It was a new addition to our back yard – more Timmy’s idea than mine, really.  I liked the idea of a pool, don’t get me wrong, but I hadn’t been sure I was up to the amount of maintenance and expense that goes along with owning one, though Timmy, who’d grown up with a pool, swore they weren’t as much trouble to keep up as I thought.   We’d batted the idea around some over the years, but we’d never really gotten motivated to actually put one in until Timmy turned into a gay rights army of one.

 

He was used to swimming laps three or four times a week to relieve stress and stay fit, but the gym hours were as limited as his were erratic, so he let his membership expire.  Over the next few weeks, his temper got shorter and his migraines lasted longer, and more than once, I caught him glaring into the full-length bathroom mirror, poking at an imaginary roll of pudge around his middle. 

 

“I’m gaining weight,” he’d say.  “I’m losing muscle tone.”

 

His muscle tone was just fine as far as I was concerned, and if anything, he was losing weight.  His schedule was even crazier than mine, and when Timmy gets caught up in something he gives more than a passing damn about, he loses track of time and forgets to eat.  I could see the difference in his face, the way his cheekbones looked more prominent when the light hit him just right.  And I could feel it in his body when we made love, my hands finding boney ridges and angles I’d never noticed before. 

 

I worried a little, thinking he might get sick if the weight loss continued, but I sure as hell wasn’t any less attracted to him.  He was just as beautiful to me as he’d ever been, long and lean, with compact muscles and an ass that could stop traffic.  But when it came down to it, this wasn’t about how I felt about Timmy – it was about how Timmy felt about himself.  So the minute the ground thawed enough this spring, the pool had gone in, and he’d been in it almost every day since, weather permitting or not.  And I didn’t mind the trouble and expense a single bit, because now when I walked into the bathroom unannounced, I caught him primping in front of the mirror just like he used to instead of glaring into it like it was the enemy. 

 

The best thing about the pool, though, was that it turned him into a kid again.  Not the kid he’d really been, according to his mother, all serious and bookish, with the weight of the world on his skinny shoulders.  A normal kid, the kind who yells too loud and runs in the house, who stays out past dark and gets grounded for dangling a snake in the neighbor girl’s face.   A kid like me.   The second he pulled on those ocean blue Brooks Brothers trunks of his, all inhibitions and ideas about dignity and decorum went by the wayside.  Just add water, and all Timmy Callahan wanted to do was play.  

 

Once we hit the water that particular afternoon, we horsed some, splashing and chasing each other around the pool like a couple of idiots, diving between each other’s legs to get in a friendly grope here and there.  Once we were pretty thoroughly winded, I hauled out the net and ball, and we played a couple of rounds of pool volleyball.   All the stress and tension of the last few months seems to have fallen off Timmy, and he looked as relaxed and happy as I’d ever seen him.  As a matter of fact, he looked so goddamned good to me, laughing and splashing around out there, his smooth, tan skin in such perfect contrast to those bright blue shorts, that he had a harder time than usual letting me win. 

 

“You’re mind’s not on the game,” he said when I scraped by with a narrow victory at the end of the second round.

 

“But honey, when you look this good, how can my mind be on anything but you?”

 

He shook his head.  “You’re incorrigible.  I think I’m going to get in a few laps now.  Would you like to join me, or would you rather lie in the hammock for a while and give your mind a rest?”

 

“You go ahead,” I told him.  “My mind’s had about all it can take for the day.”

 

I put up the net and the ball, then stretched out in the hammock, letting myself drip-dry through the wide rope mesh.  I guess it was pretty hot out, but the sun felt good and there was just enough breeze to keep me from breaking a sweat.  I could hear old Mr. Bunch cranking up his weed-whacker two doors down, and the Sheridan kids carrying on about their cockapoo’s new pups, but not much else.  From time to time, I lifted my head and shaded my eyes, trying to get a fix on Timmy.  Once playtime was over and his laps began, he was all business, gliding across the pool with smooth, silent strokes.  It freaked me out a little, the way he swam without making a sound.  Even though I knew he was okay in my head, I had a harder time convincing my gut, and I couldn’t stop myself from checking every few minutes or so to make sure he hadn’t drowned.

 

I’d been lying there for what felt like a long time, half dozing but half not, when I finally heard my better half break the surface of the water.  Seconds later, a cold, wet body scrambled onto the hammock and wound itself around me, shocking me wide awake.

 

“Jesus, Timmy!  You feel like ice!”

 

“You’re just overly warm from the sun.  If you’re getting too hot, we could go inside.”

 

“Not until I get you warm.  Geez!” I scooted over to give him more room, then helped him settle on his right side, his head on my chest and his arm around my waist.  I was glad to see he hadn’t taken off the new ring to go swimming – I wanted it to become a permanent part of him, the way his wedding band had.  As if he could read my thoughts, he moved his hand so the diamond inlays caught the sun, making them sparkle. 

 

“I love the ring,” he said.

 

“And I love you, so we’re even.”

 

“You have better taste in rings than you do in ties, Detective Sparky.”

 

“And I have better taste in men than I do in rings.” 

 

“I knew I loved you more than my luggage for a reason.”

 

“You better.  I’m a helluva lot more expensive.”

 

“No, you’re not.  But you travel well, and as far as I can see, you’re in no danger or ever wearing out.”  He cupped his hand over my crotch, giving my balls a gentle squeeze. 

 

“I’m not so sure about that one,” I said.  His hand felt good there, radiating warmth through the damp fabric of my trunks, but if he was hoping to get a rise out of me, he was temporarily out of luck.   I was so wiped out, the best response I could come up with was a feeble twitch.   Always a gentleman, he refrained from commenting.  Instead, he just gave my crotch a friendly pat and went back to examining his ring.

 

“You know, this ring seems so familiar to me.  I remember trying on a similar one a long time ago.  I saw it while we were out Christmas shopping, I think.” 

 

“Ring shopping.  We were picking out our wedding rings, remember?  You’d asked to see a certain style, and the guy behind the counter pulled this one out by mistake.  Since it was out, you tried it on just for fun, even though you said it was way out of our price range.  You were right about that one, and it wasn’t something I would have ever wanted for myself, anyway.  But it really caught your eye, I could tell.  Even after he put it back in the case, your eyes kept wandering back to it whenever you thought I wasn’t looking.  We found a set of plain bands we could both live with and that was that.  But I couldn’t stop thinking about how good this ring looked on your finger, how well it suited you.  So the next time a client was satisfied enough with Strachey Investigations to hand over a bonus check, I used it as down payment on this little baby.  It took me almost six months to pay it off, and I’ve been saving it back ever since, waiting for the right moment to give it to you.”

 

He raised his head to stare at me.  “That was ten years ago.”

 

“The ten best years of my life.”

 

“But why….” 

 

“Even way back then, I knew that sooner or later, yesterday was going to come.  When we got married, we agreed to wear our rings on our right hands until the day came when we could do it all over again legally, and then we’d switch off.  You still want to do that, don’t you?”

 

“Of course, I do.”

 

“Well, so do I.  But I’ve never liked the idea of your right hand going bare after wearing my ring for so long.  So this seemed like the perfect thing.”

 

“But ten years, Donald!”

 

“I’m a patient man.”

 

I distinctly heard a snort.  “Hardly.”

 

“Okay, you’ve got me on that one.  At least we agreed that I have my own pit bull moments here and there.”

 

“Bullheaded was the term, as I recall.”

 

“Whatever.”  I didn’t get to pull one over on Timmy very often, and I was enjoying every minute of this.  The most beautiful man I’d ever known was sharing hammock space with me, the sun was warm on our bodies, and we’d spent a pretty big chunk of a lazy Saturday in June fucking each other stupid.   Life was good.  “So when do you want to do it?” I asked.

 

“We’ve done it three times today already.  Haven’t you had enough?”

 

“Not that it.  The other it.  The big, fat, legal it.”

 

“Oh, _that_ it.  The law goes into effect exactly thirty days from yesterday, so the first day we’ll be eligible to apply for a marriage license is July 24.  That’s a Sunday, unfortunately, but Mayor Jennings has been saying for some time that he’d like to officiate at the first same-sex wedding in the state.  Considering the special circumstances, he may very well push to have city offices open that day.”

 

“So you want to be front and center when the line forms that morning, I take it?” I said, tweaking his nose. 

 

He gave the hair around my left nipple a sharp tug in retaliation. “I don’t need to be the first in line, but I would like to do it that day if we can.  We’ve waited ten years for this to happen, after all.  How much longer should we have to wait?”

 

“Ow!  Point taken.”  I briefly considered pulling a chest hair or two myself, but when he roused himself to kiss the sore spot, I thought better of it.  And when he began licking circles around the nipple in question and pulled it into his mouth, sucking gently, I started thinking I might not be so wiped out, after all.   

 

“So where do you want to do it?” he asked.

 

One of his hands had slipped beneath the waistband of my trunks, and he was lightly stroking my lower belly, eliciting a moan from yours truly.  “Oh, hell.  Right here, right now sounds good to me.”

 

“Not that it.  The marriage it.  Try to stay with me, all right?”

 

“Stay with you?  Holy shit, Timothy!   I’ll follow you anywhere if you keep doing that.”  Regretfully, I took his hand out of my pants and kissed it, then sat up and shook my head to clear it.  “I really don’t care where we do the reboot, if you wanna know the truth.  What sounds good to you?  Penguin suits and candles in Poughkeepsie again?  A quiet bed and breakfast somewhere upstate with 500 of your nearest and dearest flown in from God knows where?  Or would you rather book a church this time so we’re finally square with the big guy in the sky?  Your Jesuit buddies aren’t gonna touch us with a ten-foot pole, but somebody will.  The Unitarians, maybe, or somebody from the MCC?”

 

“We’ve been married in the eyes of God since we decided to spend our lives together, honey.  What the Catholic church does or doesn’t want to touch has nothing to do with it.”

 

“You really believe that, don’t you?”

 

“I do.  I also believe I could have made an effective priest even as a gay man who shares his bed with another gay man.  The church disagreed, so here I am.  But I’ll tell you something, Don.  I’ve found that I can serve both God and my fellow man just as effectively as a layman as I ever could have as a priest.  A little differently, perhaps, but in a way that’s every bit as valid and fulfilling.   My circumstances may have changed, but my vocation hasn’t.  And I’ll tell you something else.  I’m much wiser and more compassionate as a gay man and as your husband than I ever could have been as a member of the clergy.”

 

“Putting up with me all these years has taught you patience, has it?”

 

“Among other things.”

 

“So no big church blow-out this time around?  No marching down the aisle to ‘Here Comes the Bride’?  Or in this case, ‘It’s Raining Men’?”

 

“Definitely not.  I was thinking more in terms of something simple and private in Washington Park, perhaps within sight of King Fountain.  We could exchange vows under the tree where we met, if you like.  It would be shady there, so even if the weather’s miserably hot, we’d still be comfortable.  Since it’s a casual setting, we won’t have to dress up, which should suit you just fine.  You can even wear your cut-offs if you like.  We’ll invite a couple of witnesses along, and I’ll ask Tom Nelson to officiate.  He’s a Supreme Court justice, so he could waive the 24-hour waiting period for us.  We could actually get married on the day we get our license.”

 

I flipped through my mental Rolodex, trying to remember where I’d heard that name.  “Tom Nelson?  You mean your dad’s old golfing buddy, the one who kicks his ass every time they hit the green?  The one Liz said looked like a walrus?”

 

“What’s wrong?  You don’t like the idea?”

 

“No, it’s fine.   Whatever you want’s okay with me,” I said, feeling strangely let down.  “All that just sounds so…ordinary.  I’m just shocked that you don’t want to make a bigger deal outta this.”

 

“But this isn’t a big deal, honey.  At least, it shouldn’t  be.  Two men getting married should be the most ordinary thing in the world.  Don’t you agree?”

 

“I guess,” I said.  “So, who do you want to drag along to witness this most ordinary thing?” 

 

“I’d like to have Kelly there, since she missed it the first time around.  And it would be nice for you to bring someone to stand up for you this time.  Kenny, maybe?”

 

I felt his forehead.  “You actually want Kenny to attend our wedding?  Are you feeling okay?  Maybe you’ve been out in the sun too long.”

 

“This isn’t really our wedding, is it?  We did all that years ago. I’m unbelievably grateful to have the chance to do this legally, but law or no law, I couldn’t possibly feel more married to you than I do right now.  I think of this as more of a reaffirmation.” 

 

“That’s how I see it, too,” I said. What I was feeling was a helluva lot more complicated than that, but I wasn’t ready to put it into words just yet.  Then what he’d been saying earlier struck home.  “You’re going to run for office, aren’t you?”

 

“I haven’t made a definite decision, and I wouldn’t without talking to you first.  I know how disruptive this last year and a half has been for us as a couple, and as pleased as I am with the outcome and as proud as I am of the contribution I’ve made, I’ve missed our life together. You’ve been completely supportive and understanding, but I’ve missed _us_ , and I know you have, too.”

 

“I have.  But you know I’ll always be right behind you, no matter what you decide to do.”

 

“I was hoping you’d feel that way.  Joe Townsend will be retiring next year, and I’m thinking of shooting for his seat in the House.  If the time comes when I need to spend a significant time campaigning, I’d like to have you by my side, at least as much as possible.  I won’t just be running for office as an out gay man, but also as half of a happy, monogamous gay couple.  So, if we decide to go forward with this – and I say _we_ because the two of us will either be in this together or not at all – we’ll both have to make certain…modifications.”

 

 _Modifications._   I turned the word over in my head, knowing exactly what that meant.  As I thought it over, I realized it bothered me a lot less than I would have expected.   Kenny’d had his license for some time now, and I’d been turning more and more of my responsibilities over to him.  Why not take a leap of faith and make him a partner?  He’d earned the title, and it would free me up to give Timmy the time and support he deserved.  God only knew the number of sacrifices he’d made for me over the years.

 

Timmy was watching me, that little worry line between his eyebrows getting deeper by the moment as he second-guessed himself, wondering if he was asking for more than I’d ever be ready to give.  I took his hand in mine and kissed it, touched his face, stroked his hair.  Then one of the few Bible passages I’d retained from childhood popped into my head.

 

“Whither thou goest, I will go,” I told him.  “Always, sweetheart.  You can count on it.”  Then his arms were around me, squeezing tight, and he buried his face against my neck, his sun-warmed shoulders shaking.  “Hey,” I whispered, rubbing his back, peppering as much of him as I could reach with kisses.  “It’s okay.  It’s okay.  As long as we’re together, everything’s going to be okay.”

 

“I just love you so much,” he said.

 

“Like I said earlier, that makes us even.”

 

 

* * * *

 

Cadie tugged my hand and pointed at the King Fountain.  “Who’s that a statue of?”

 

“I think that’s supposed to be Moses, Cadie Bug.”

 

“Who’s Moses?” she asked. 

 

I watched Timmy jab the center piece of his glasses, shoving them about an inch higher on his nose.  He’s nothing if not a live-and-let-live kind of guy, but it pissed off the former future Jesuit in him to no end that his Irish Catholic baby sister hadn’t bothered to give her kid even a rudimentary religious education.   As he squared his shoulders, ready to go into lecture mode, I decided that if we had a prayer of getting married today, I was gonna have to nip it in the bud.

 

“Moses was a really cool guy who lived a long time ago.  He worked really hard to make life better for his people.”

 

“Like Mother and Uncle Tim do?”

 

“You got it, babydoll.” 

 

“Why is he wearing a dress?  Was he a drag queen?”

 

I heard Timmy make a strange choking sound.  I wasn’t sure whether he was sputtering in outrage or had given in and started laughing.  Or maybe he’d swallowed a bug.  I hoped it wasn’t the latter, but I was almost afraid to look over  and find out.

 

“Everybody wore dresses back then,” I told her. “It was a guy thing.” 

 

“Why is he holding his hands up like that?”

 

“He’s parting the Red Sea, honey,” Timmy managed to say as Kelly stalked over to join us.

 

“What’s the Red Sea?”

 

“An endless ocean of bullshit, Cadence.  Just like the sea of crap your uncles had to wade through in order to get married in the eyes of the law.”  Kelly looked at her watch for maybe the hundredth time since we’d gotten there.  “When’s that judge supposed to get here?  I need to get on the road.”  

 

Almost a quarter til one, and we’d been hanging out in the park since noon, waiting for Tom “The Walrus” Nelson to make his appearance and get this show on the road.   We’d been up since the ass crack of dawn, and the strain of hauling ourselves out of bed that early on a Sunday morning was starting to show.   Kelly and Cadie had spent the night in our guest room, then stood in line with us at the clerk’s office as we handed over the $40 the state charged to make us lawfully wedded husbands.  Of the two, Cadie had been the most patient – not to mention the most well-behaved.

 

Kenny’d joined us afterwards at Denny’s for a quick celebratory brunch, then followed us out to the park to wait for Walrus Man.  He’d had to cut the morning-after festivities short with his Saturday night hook-up _du jour_ to meet us on time, and I’d almost – almost – invited the guy, who he’d described as a dreadlocked and massively-biceped god named Darius, along for the ride.  But Kenny wore the hair off Timmy’s ass as it was, and it was no secret that Kelly and I wore the hair off each other’s.  Between them, I thought we’d have more than enough potential aggravation to go around.

 

“Why did you pick this spot?” Kenny asked.  “I mean, it’s a pretty location and all, but don’t you think it’s kind of a weird place to have a wedding?”

 

“Uncle Tim and Uncle Don met here,” Cadie informed him.  “Don’t you think it’s nice for them to get married in the place where they first met?”

 

Kenny’s eyes widened.  “You met each other cruising?  That is so cool!  So today you’re, like, striking a blow against our oppressive straight society by getting legally married in the place where you shared your first…uh…blow.”

 

Timmy looked at me. “When the doctor dropped him on his head in the delivery room, why did anyone bother to pick him up again?  Ever?” 

 

“We met here to discuss business, Kenny.  Timothy hired me to work on a case for his ex-boss.  Now do me a favor and take a hike around the fountain, wouldja, and keep an eye out for Nelson.  As soon as he gets here, we’ll be ready to start.”

 

“I see him!  I see the walrus!” Cadie said, pointing to Danny DeVito-shaped man in a dark suit who was coming around the bend, sporting the most impressive mustache I’d seen outside of a Ripley’s Believe It or Not museum.  And walking beside him was another man, taller and looking considerably less like a marine animal.  As a matter of fact, he held a striking resemblance to someone I knew well.  Timmy spotted him at the same time I did, and his hand clamped down on my wrist hard enough to hurt. 

 

“Grampa!” Cadie cried, running to meet him.

 

“Son of a bitch,” I muttered.

 

“Dad,” Timmy said in a strangled voice.

 

“That pretty much sums up the situation,” Kelly informed us all as James Callahan picked up his granddaughter and kissed her on the cheek. 

 

“Mother, look!  It’s Grampa!” 

 

“So I see.  How’ve you been, Pop?”

 

“Kelly,” he said, nodding to his daughter.  “Don.”  Then he set Cadie down and walked up to Timmy, hand extended.  “I’ve missed you, son,” he said.

 

Timmy just held my wrist and held his ground.  “You’re the last person I expected to see here today,” he said.

 

James looked uncomfortable.  “I know you didn’t invite me, but I wasn’t able to attend your first wedding, and I’ve always regretted that.   I’ve come to regret a number of the decisions I’ve made where you and your sister are concerned.  I haven’t always been the most understanding father…” he hesitated, then glanced at me, “…or the warmest and most welcoming father-in-law, so if you’re  not comfortable having me here, I’ll certainly understand.   But before I go, I want you to know that I’m happy for you, happy that you’ve found a partner who has stood by you all these years and supported you.   And I’m proud to see the mark you’re making on the world, proud to see the man you’ve become.”

 

“I haven’t exactly made the type of mark you’d hoped I would,” Timmy said.

 

James sighed.  “That’s politics.  You’re family.  I only wish it hadn’t taken this long for me to understand the difference. 

 

Timmy looked at me, wavering.  “Go on,” I said quietly, giving him a nudge.  “He’s not expecting this to fix everything, but at least it’s a start.”  He let go of my wrist then and took a step toward his father.  They clasped hands stiffly at first, then James opened his arms wide and reeled him in.  It was one of those hale and hearty man-hugs involving lots of back slapping and throat clearing, but I knew better than anyone how much it meant to Timmy.  They had a lot of ground to cover before everything could be put right between them, providing it ever could be put right again.  But at least James was here and he was trying.  Like I told Timmy, it was a beginning.

 

 

* * * *

 

We repeated the same vows we’d written for each other ten-and-a-half years ago, only this time I stayed conscious all way to the end.   As soon as we finished, Kelly high-tailed it out of there, saying she had to lead a Save the Naked Mole Rats rally or some such shit in D.C. the next day and that she needed to be hitting the road.  As she was wrapping up her goodbyes with Timmy, she shot a quick glance in my direction and said, “I hate to ask you this….”

 

“Cadie can spend the night at our place,” Timmy said.

 

“Are you sure?  I know it’s your wedding night, but there’s nothing for her to do during the rally and no one to watch her, and I hate dragging her all way to—”

 

“Cadie’s welcome to stay with us anytime she likes,” I said, putting an end to her ramble.  I meant what I said, but Timmy and I had known Kelly was working her way up to asking this all along, and it really pissed me off that she’d waited this long to spit it out.  I would’ve loved to tell her all about it, but I kept my mouth shut.  Kelly was Kelly.  Starting in on her today or any other day wasn’t gonna change a goddamned thing, so why bother?  Besides, I didn’t want to upset Timmy. 

 

“Well, as long as you’re sure,” she said.  “I’m leaving now, Cadence.  You still have your spare swimsuit in the guestroom closet and at least two changes of clothes besides.  Do what your uncles ask you to do, and for God’s sake remind them to put sunscreen on your back before you get in that pool.   I don’t want you to burn again.”

 

“Pool?” Kenny said.  I could practically see his ears perking up.  “I didn’t know you had a pool.   How long have you had a pool?”

 

“All summer!” Cadie said.  “They have a volleyball net and diving board and everything.   Would you like to come home with us and swim?”

 

“Hel…I mean heck, yeah, I would.  As long as it’s okay with the newlyweds.”

 

I looked at Timmy and he looked at me.  I thought I saw the corner of his eye twitch, but he recovered nicely.   “That’ll be fine,” he said smoothly.  “We can throw some hot dogs on the grill, have a cookout, maybe.”

 

“Awesome!  Can I bring my boyfriend along?  He doesn’t have a car, so he’s just hanging out at my place til I get back.   I don’t want him to think I ditched him this early in the relationship.”

 

“Boyfriend?” I asked.

 

“Well, yeah.  You know.   Darius.”

 

“You met this guy in a bar at two o’clock this morning.  When did you find time to become boyfriends?”

 

“About three-thirty or four, I think.  No, wait.   Maybe it was closer to five.   I kinda lost track of time in there.”

 

Timmy and I exchanged another long look.   This time I was sure of it – his eye was definitely twitching.  “You can bring Darius,” he said.

 

“Kew-well!  I don’t think he’s supposed to get his dreads wet, but as long as we put a bag or something over his head, he should be fine.  Oh, and he doesn’t have swim trunks at my place, and I only have one pair.  Maybe he can bor—”  The look Timmy gave him stopped him cold.  “Never mind.  Bad idea, bad idea.  We’ll stop at K-Mart on the way over and get him a pair.”

 

Timmy turned to his father and The Walrus.  “We seem to be hosting a pool party this evening.  Would the two of you like to join us?”

 

“We’d better get on the road, I’m afraid.   I promised Tom’s wife that I’d have him home before dark, and if your mother stops by the country club and I’m not there, she’ll be worried.”

 

“Mom doesn’t know where you are?  In all honesty, I assumed she was the one who put you up to this.”

 

“No, she doesn’t know anything about it.  When Tom called and told me that my son was getting married today, I decided to take a chance and slip up here on the sly.  I didn’t want to get her hopes up in case it didn’t work out.”

 

“I’m glad you decided to take that chance, Dad,” Timmy said.

 

James clapped him on the back, then gripped his shoulder for a long moment before letting go.  “So am I,” he said.

 

 

* * * *

 

 

Everyone dispersed in short order.  We were in the eye of the storm and we knew it, so Timmy and I decided to take the long way back to the car and walk around the lake to unwind.  Cadie asked if she could run ahead, hoping to see ducks.

 

“Stay where we can see you,” Timmy told her.  “If you remind me next time, maybe we can bring some bread to feed them.”

 

“Mother says it’s a bad idea to feed wildlife.  She says it makes then artificially dependent on man for their survival.”

 

“Of course she does,” I muttered, dodging before Timmy could nail me with an elbow.  He was grinning at me, though, so I relaxed and took his hand, lacing my fingers through his.

 

“Thank you for being so understanding about Cadie spending the night,” he said.

 

“Hey, I’m always cool with our Cadie Bug coming to visit.  Thank _you_ for not killing Kenny, and for letting him bring his…whatever he is…to the house later.  Now that Kenny’s got a foot in the door, we’re never going to get rid of him, you know.”

 

“We still own a shovel, don’t we?”

 

“We do.”

 

“Then I’ll be able to get rid of him.”

“That’s my Bruiser,” I said, squeezing his hand.  “I’m sorry this is all turning into such a mess, though.  I was hoping to give you a more romantic wedding night.”

 

“We’ll have other nights.  Our first wedding night was pretty romantic, as I recall.  Remember the fireplace and the champagne?”

 

“I remember belching hollandaise sauce all night long.”

 

“Neither of us will ever forget that.  It was real, honey, just the way today has been real.  This is our life, and I wouldn’t  have it any other way.”

 

“You know, I thought adding a legal document to the mix would change everything, but I guess you were right.  I don’t feel any different than I did an hour ago.   How about you?”

 

“Of course not,” he said, punctuating the words with kiss.  “You’ve always been my husband, and you always will be.  It’s a relief to know that the law finally recognizes that fact, but it doesn’t really change anything.  I’ve known you were the person I was going to spend the rest of my life with since the first time we danced together.”

 

I couldn’t help laughing.  “Oh, you’ve _known_ that, have you?”

 

“Known I wanted it to work out between us so we _could_ spend our lives together,” he amended.  “I’d be less than honest if I didn’t admit to having certain fleeting moments of doubt.  The first time I rode in your horrible little rat trap of a –

 

“Hey!”                                                                      

 

“…in your character-rich and immaculately authentic antique vehicle.”

 

“That’s more like it.”

 

“Not to mention the first time I saw the dirty laundry under your bed or the mutant life forms evolving inside your crisper.”

 

“Now see, that just shows how much I needed you.  And you got me housebroken in no time.”

 

“In no time?  _Please._   Just last night, you took a huge gulp of milk straight out of the carton, spent two solid minutes hacking and spitting because it had gone sour, then carefully closed the carton and set it back inside the refrigerator.  And you still stuff dirty socks in the shirts and trousers hamper and damp towels in the underwear hamper in spite of the fact that we’ve used the same system since we moved in together and I have all three hampers clearly labeled.  Here it is, nearly eleven years later –”

 

“Okay, as far as housebreaking is concerned, I ride the short bus.  I admit it.”

 

“Darling, you can barely _spell_ ‘short bus’.  And then there’s our second date –”

 

“Oh, here we go!”

 

“I simply want to point out….”

 

Kenny’s moron shtick.  Kelly’s bitchiness.  Cadie’s thousand and one questions.  Snarking with my sweetie while we walked through the park holding hands.  Even James showing up when he did and trying to mend fences with his son.  Timmy was right.  This was a day just like any other day.  Two men who loved each other signing on the dotted line then getting on with their life, their ordinary life together.  It was the most ordinary day in the world, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

“We didn’t have any music this time around,” I said, cutting through his tirade.

 

“We didn’t exactly have an orchestra available, in case you didn’t notice.”

 

“Who needs an orchestra?  I can always sing.”

 

“Honey,  I thought we’d already established the fact that you can’t sing.”

 

“Okay, I can whistle, then.”  I started whistling an oldie – “Saturday in the Park” by Chicago.

 

“It’s Sunday,” Timmy said.

 

“Party pooper.”

 

For no reason in particular, Timmy pulled me into a long, firm kiss.  We stood there for a while, just holding each other, until Cadie ran back to ask why we were taking so long.   Together, we scooped her up and added her hugs to the mix.  The new law granted us legal rights we hadn’t had before, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t going to rest easier because of it.  But it didn’t alter the world as we knew it, and it didn’t mean we were suddenly living in a state of grace.

 

We’d been living in one all along.


End file.
